


Harry Potter And The Piano Pratt Next Door

by AngelKitten606



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ayyy It's Drarry, Bad jokes I came up with, But in this house we respect Ginny Weasley, Comfort, Crush, Denial of Feelings, Flirting, Harry and Draco don't hate each other as much as in the books and movies, Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Stuff, PTSD, Past Racism, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Humor, Some Fluff, Somewhat Out Of Character Draco, Somewhat Out Of Character Harry, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but there's also a lot of angst, consider these tags your starter pack, so welcome to the drarry cult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelKitten606/pseuds/AngelKitten606
Summary: After a particular "incident" during Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry is desperate to escape the prying eyes of nosy reporters, (cough, Rita Skeeter, cough cough) desperate to escape everything. After a year of moving from place to place, Harry finally ends up finding his perfect hideout: A muggle apartment complex. Far from the Wizarding World and magic and curses and the past he wants nothing more to forget.Ah, peace and quiet.Wait, do you hear that?That sound next door?I think it's a piano...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 7





	1. Harry Potter Is Pissed Off

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies and Gentlemen, cats and dogs, gods and goddesses, brothers and sisters (and genderqueer folk.) 
> 
> Welcome to the cult. The Drarry cult, in this case, since there will probably be a shit ton of Drarry on this account. But I do write for other fandoms (cough, Hamilton, cough cough.) 
> 
> Anywayyyy, this is a collab with Yetikatter, who also writes Drarry stories that are way better than mine, so go read them. Now. That is a command. He did most of Draco's POVS while I mostly did Harry's. 
> 
> That's all I have for you today. ~Onto the story~

Harry's POV

Harry James Potter has never had a problem with pianos.

He never had much of an opinion on them, really. They were long, black and white instruments muggles used to generate sound- to generate music. Nothing more, nothing less.

Until now. 

"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath at the sound of the piano starting up next door- AGAIN. Normally, Henry would've condemned himself for using muggle-curse words instead of his typical "Merlin's beard!" but he was so pissed off at this point, he didn't care what sort of language he used.

Harry's neighbor, whoever the hell he was, needed to shut the fuck up. Classical music, while beautiful, grew very strenuous after five. straight. hours. 

Harry thought he had endured torment before. He had sat through the dreaded detentions with Professor Umbridge during her reign of terror, suffered the unfairly docked points from Gryffindor courtesy of Professor Snape, but this- this was something new entirely. Detentions from that pink, evil, kitten-obsessed witch and a few lost points seemed like paradise compared to this unusual new form of torture. 

The piano slowed, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 

Until it started back up again. 

Ok, screw it.

Harry clenched his fists and strode over to the coatrack, slinging his jacket over his shoulders. It was only mid-August, but it already felt like December. Despite being indoors, the halls of the apartment complex were ice cold (mostly since the staff couldn't figure out how to shut off the damn air conditioning.) Unfortunately, Harry had to walk through said freezing cold halls of the complex for his little confrontation with his neighbor.

Slamming his door and shutting it, Harry gritted his teeth at the even more audible sound of the piano roaring through the complex. How had none of the other Muggles filed a noise complaint? Harry strode away from his door, not bothering to lock it. He planned on making this short and sweet. 

"Keep playing your piano so loud, and I'll unleash Avada Kedavra on you," Harry recited in his head. 

Okay, maybe take out that next part, since his neighbor was probably am muggle. No other witch or wizard would ever move into a muggle complex under any circumstance. 

No other witch or wizard... but him.

Harry shook his head. He wouldn't think about that right now. He couldn't think about that right now.

Refocusing on his surroundings, Harry straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. A moment of silence passed. Irritated, Harry pounded on the door again, and it finally swung open.

"Potter?"

No. Shitting. Way.


	2. Draco Malfoy Is Smug And... Sincere?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry discovers who his 'mystery' neighbor is- and that they may have more in common than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, all those that have been with us since chapter one and those of you who have just joined us this chapter, welcome to the Drarry cult. 
> 
> Yetikatter wrote most of the beginning and middle of this chapter while I wrote the end, so the result is an awkward mix of mostly Draco's POV but it kind of molds into Harry's at the end lmao. In the future, Draco's POVS will be more individual and Harry won't steal the spotlight as much lol.

*Mostly* Draco's POV (Harry's POV sneaks in a couple times): 

Fingers jumped across keys, a blur of black and white below Draco's fingers. One stroke of finger against key drew beautiful melodies from the piano, gradually building up to the climax of the piece, the part Draco both anticipated and dreaded. He anticipated it because the climax of the piece was absolutely beautiful, finishing off the song perfectly, like the final piece of a puzzle. He dreaded it because it meant the song was a few notes away from ending. The end of the song meant the end of his distraction, his survival mechanism. The end of his peace, until he launched into a new song. 

But even if the storm would come back the second after the music ended, Draco would finish strong, as all artists do. 

Just before his left hand could spring into motion, a harsh knock sounded. 

Well, so much for finishing strong. Draco removed his hands from the piano, debating whether or not to go up and answer the door. Intrusive thoughts circled through his head, and he couldn't help but wonder if the malicious face of his father or another family member waited on the other end. Of course, Draco knew that thought was irrational. The Malfoy's hadn't exactly been in a hurry to stop him when he left. 

Okay, so it probably-hopefully wasn't someone he knew. Who else? He hadn't really spoken to any of the muggles residing here. His piano was his current company, and the only company he needed. 

Draco shrugged to himself and decided to ignore it, not wanting to leave his comfortable spot at the piano. Before he could move a muscle, another knock sounded, a considerably more aggressive one. Draco could practically sense the impatience simmering on the other side of the door. Draco bit the bullet and stood up. 

"It's probably nothing. Keep it together, Draco." Draco told himself, approaching the door, hoping the movement would slow the sudden trembling in his limbs. 

Draco swung the door open, to see the last face he'd ever expected to see. Green eyes met gray, and as a result, Draco's mouth swung open like a nicely oiled hinge. Harry Potter's mouth formed the same shape, surprise dancing in his eyes, the eyes Draco had studied for years. When that enticing green stare was directed at him, it was usually full of moderate resentment and bitterness. Surprise was a nice change of pace. It made sense, considering the fact that Draco and Harry had had a moderate rivalry back at Hogwarts. Draco had messed with Harry and his friends at times, but hate was a strong word. Draco had learned the hard way that he didn't want to be on the other side of the great Harry Potter's wrath. 

"Potter?" Draco finally said, deciding that someone should break the tense silence. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Was Harry's instant response, as if it were rehearsed. 

"Eloquent as ever, Potter." Draco replied, his voice hoarse. "It's nice to see you too." 

"I don't know if I'd call it nice," Harry grumbled under his breath. "Why are you here?" 

"It's not obvious? I live here, what else?" 

"You live here? Since when?" 

Draco did a quick calculation in his head. "Since... about two months ago." 

Harry's eyes widened. Draco couldn't blame him. It was strange, that he had been neighbors with Harry Potter for nearly two months and neither of them had realized until now. On the other hand, Draco didn't leave his apartment much, aside from shifts at work and occasional grocery trips. Leaving his apartment meant leaving his piano, and Draco tried to do that as little as possible. Now that he thought about it, it wasn't too big of a coincidence that he hadn't crossed paths with Harry until now. 

"Yeah, but why are you here?" Harry snapped. 

"I was about to ask you the same question, savior of the wizarding world." Draco remarked. "They all said you crashed at the Weasley's before you up and disappeared without another word." 

"Don't fucking play dumb." Harry's voice took a cold, bitter edge. Strange. From time to time, Draco did enjoy riling Harry up at Hogwarts, seeing his cheeks grow that lovely hue of red and his eyes fill with that magnificent anger, but he didn't recall Harry being this short tempered. 

"You know exactly what happened in sixth year. You saw Rita Skeeter's articles. Everyone did." Harry continued, almost stumbling over the words as he spoke, as if they were painful to say. 

Draco did know. Most people at Hogwarts knew the main story, the gist of what had happened. But even though there was plenty of speculation, distaste and controversy regarding Harry Potter after the incident, not everyone had turned on him. He had overheard countless students (particularly Gryffindors) bitch and moan about how they missed the presence of Potter, about how the incident wasn't entirely his fault. He had observed the defense some students would jump to whenever someone spoke ill of Potter's name. Even some of the newspaper articles outlining the scandal would give Potter the benefit of the doubt, with the exception of Rita Skeeter's articles. She milked the incident for all it was worth. Bottom line: Not all the attention Harry had gotten from the incident was negative, and something about that both relieved and bothered Draco. 

"I bet you just hate all the attention," Draco retorted, his voice coming out more smug than he intended. 

Harry clenched his fists. Typical pretentious Malfoy behavior. He couldn't deal with this right not, anyway. He had come here to escape the past, not relive it. "Whatever," He said. "I came here to get away from all that. And with your distracting, excruciatingly loud piano-playing, you're making that very difficult to do." 

For a fraction of a second, Draco recognized something in Potter's beautiful- cough, cough, simple green eyes. Desperation. Desperation for a clean slate, a fresh start, an old life he wanted to leave behind and a new life ahead of him he wanted to untap. Before two months ago, Draco never would've guessed that he could relate to this feeling. But now, he understood it more than ever. Before he could think better of it, Draco played nice. 

"Ah, so this is about my piano. Well, Potter, I apologize. My intention wasn't to interrupt your time away from society. Although you'd probably rather eat led than have anything in common with me, I understand the need to be alone, to get away from things." Harry didn't respond, his eyes flickering with surprise. Draco deduced that he probably expected a smug reply instead of this sudden sincerity. 

And Draco continued to surprise not only Harry but himself with the next words that tumbled out of his mouth. "And... maybe... maybeyoucouldcomeinforasecond? Just to come to an understanding regarding the piano?" 

Harry had to suppress the urge to hold his jaw, simply to prevent it from falling to the floor. Were these words actually coming out of Draco Malfoy's mouth? He was never this sincere. Especially not towards him. 

"This- this is a trick," Harry scoffed. "We were essentially rivals all through our days at Hogwarts and now you're inviting me in for a housewarming cocktail?" 

Draco sighed. "It won't be long, Potter. Just a way to come to a compromise regarding this piano problem. You have my offer, take it or leave it." He extended a shaky hand, just like he'd done that first day at Hogwarts. Draco didn't know why, but he really, really wanted Harry to accept his offer, the desire ascending beyond the piano matter. Draco hadn't seen Harry since he left Hogwarts two years ago and left everything behind, and certainly hadn't realized he was living next door to him for the past two months. Draco was starting to consider the option that he missed Harry, or at least the amusement their banters provided. 

As for Harry, a similar war was also waging inside his head. This was when he should've laughed in Draco's face, turned around, and headed back inside his flat. But there was an unreal sincerity in Draco's tone, a certain glimmer in his eyes, some damn unknown thing tugging at Harry's heart. Harry didn't know what it was, but it made him lace his fingers through Draco's before his head could catch up with his heart. 

"Ok, ok, Malfoy. I'll come inside and we'll figure this piano thing out. But if this is a joke and you're about to dump a bucket of ice over my head or something, I'm going to turn you into a ferret, your rightful state." 

Harry then ripped his hand away from Draco's. Draco sensed that he hadn't meant to hold it for that long. 

Smirking, Draco swept the door all the way open, welcoming Harry inside with his natural pure-blood manners. 

Although Harry had, for a reason that was beyond him, chosen to enter Draco's home, he still hesitated upon stepping inside. Draco shut the door behind him, to Harry's distaste. Well, if this turned out to be a huge prank and Harry needed a getaway, he could always smash open a window. 

"So, this is your fortress of doom," Harry commented, observing the walls, painted over with a thick black. Odd. Long before Harry left Hogwarts for good, he had heard a group of Slytherins complain that Draco filled the walls of the Slytherin dormitory with trophies and Malfoy family heirlooms, leaving little space left. Conceited behavior, as expected from a Malfoy. Why didn't he bring any of that junk here? 

Although, it wasn't like Harry was any different. Nowadays, stuffing his mouth full of cotton seemed preferable to witnessing any reminder of Hogwarts. 

"I take it you like the place," Draco answered, flopping back against the divan. 

"It's okay, considering the crappy state of this apartment." Harry admitted. "You never answered my question, by the way. Why are you here?" Draco had mentioned before that he understood the need for seclusion. But why did he need seclusion? Why would the great Draco Malfoy abandon his comfortable 8 story manor and move into a shoddy flat full of muggles, the race the Malfoys often degraded? 

Draco severed eye contact for briefly, then stood and approached the small kitchen tucked away in the corner of the room. Tugging open the fridge door, Draco retrieved a carton of orange juice, the closest thing he could find to pumpkin juice at those muggle supermarkets. 

"A lot has happened over the past two months." Draco said, pouring the juice into a tall glass, his eyes still avoiding Harry's. 

Harry wanted to push it, to satisfy his curiosity, but the look in Malfoy's eyes told him it was best to leave it, for now. Not that he cared about Malfoy's feelings. He just didn't want to waste time. He was only here to settle the piano business. 

"Right," Harry mumbled as Draco approached him, glass in hand. "Most hosts would offer their guests something to drink, you know." 

"Easy, Potter. I let you come inside, that doesn't mean I'm gonna fluff your pillows and serve you bon-bons on a silver platter." 

Harry shrugged, and took a seat on the cushioned chair behind him. "Fair enough. So, the piano." 

"Right," Draco returned to his spot on the divan. "The piano."

"Well?" Harry asked. "I'm all ears." 

"Well, I told you that it wasn't my intention to interrupt your Gryffindor man brooding time. But, putting intentions aside, it is unfortunate that Gryffindors seem to have no taste in music." 

"It's also unfortunate that Slytherins fail to see that their pureblood cult practices aren't so tasteful after five straight hours." 

Draco's shoulders shook, and the corners of his mouth pulled upwards, letting out a laugh he couldn't contain. Potter really was quite amusing sometimes. 

This didn't sit well with Harry. Because Draco's laugh was oddly sweet, like melted honey, contrasting sharply with his general sour personality. The sound emitting from his mouth didn't at all sound like his crude, hasty laughs back at Hogwarts. It was something new. Draco's laugh was, to Harry's shock and horror, pretty. 

"You should see your face, Potter!" Draco managed through his giggles. 

"Shut up! You're the one who started laughing like an adorable bunny!" Harry spat out and instantly clapped a hand over his mouth. 

Draco laughed harder at this. What a scene this was, the renowned Harry Potter slipping up and calling his rival an adorable bunny. Naturally, Harry's cheeks were redder than the time he had walked in on Hermione and Pansy doing it. 

Out of sympathy for poor, blushing Potter, Draco's chuckles eventually slowed. "Let me get you some tea, Potty." 

"Oh, so now you're playing host and offering me a drink?" Harry bit out. 

"I'm cutting you some slack. You look like your pregnancy test just turned positive. Some tea should calm your raging hormones down." With that, the blonde stalked off to his kitchen, fine arse on display. 

Wait, what? 

Harry shook that unwelcome thought from his head and watched Draco's nimble fingers pour the tea into a pretty china cup. He returned from the kitchen, setting the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table between the divan and the cushioned chair. Harry was grateful that it wasn't pumpkin juice or butter-beer, as both beverages were a painful reminder of life back at Hogwarts. He used to get drunk on them with Ron, laughing and messing around while Hermione scolded them fervently. 

Harry grabbed the cup of tea and took a sip, desperate for something to focus on aside from his embarrassment and Malfoy's stupid quips. Wait, he did. The piano. 

"Back to the piano-can we come to an agreement? You won't play your death machine for five bloody hours?" 

"Careful, you don't want me to laugh like an adorable bunny again, do you?" Draco taunted. 

"I was just thinking off the top of my head!" Harry snapped. Clearly, Draco's smugness hadn't ceased since they were in school together. 

"Fine, fine. As I said earlier, my intention wasn't to interrupt your solidarity Gryffindor man brooding time. I'll tone it down with the piano... a bit. Maybe take off an hour or so so you only have to endure four hours of my Pureblood cult practices." Draco tried to sound as smooth and unbothered as possible, but deep down, he was hesitant. Every moment he spent with his piano was sacred. Every second of every song lifted a weight off of his shoulders and eased all his troubles, whether old or new. If Draco hadn't grown into less of a jackass over the past two months, if he didn't empathize with Potter's need for peace, he probably wouldn't be making this agreement. 

"Four hours of Pureblood cult practices it is, thanks," Harry grumbled. Although he didn't show it, Harry was a bit surprised. He had expected more of a banter over this. After all, he was speaking to Draco, who Harry had deduced was mostly immune to reason considering their interactions at Hogwarts. This quick agreement almost seemed too good to be true. 

Harry turned towards the piano itself, examining it closely. He hadn't recalled Draco ever playing piano before, much less expressing an interest in any musical instrument. 

"What's your deal with this thing, anyway?" Harry asked. 

"My deal?" 

"You know- the deal. The thing. The big bang." 

Draco was unable to restrain another laugh. "Is this your very eloquent way of asking me why I like to play piano?" 

"I guess. Whatever. Answer the damn question." 

"Well, I've always known how to play, but up until moving here I wasn't very interested in playing." Draco admitted, remembering how he would count down the minutes until his piano lessons were over as a boy. 

"Wait, you knew how to play?" 

"Of course I do, Potter. How else would I have been torturing you the past two months?" 

"True." Harry said, the idiocy of his question catching up to him. "Since you've always steered clear of muggles, I'm assuming you didn't willingly play one of their instruments." 

Draco held back a chuckle. He found it amusing how Harry could be oblivious one moment and witty the next, all within the span of a few seconds. "My father insisted I take piano lessons when I was younger. Even if pianos were a muggle-made instrument, they were sophisticated and cultured, according to him. At the time, I begged to differ." When Draco thought back on his indifference towards pianos at the time, he was certain he must've been out of his mind. Today, he didn't know what he'd do without his piano. 

"Besides, I've moved into this God-forsaken muggle ridden flat right next door to you. I'm kind of past avoiding them at this point." Draco added, then bit his lip in hesitation, wondering whether or not he should say the next few words. "And Potter, please keep in mind that two years have passed since we were in school together, and I don't necessarily stand by all the remarks I made towards muggles then." 

"Is that you're twisted, dodgy way of saying you're sorry for being a racist?" 

"It's my way of saying that these past two months have given me some time to reflect. But that's neither here nor there, Potter. Anyway, I didn't buy this piano originally. It had been left behind by the previous owner when I moved in, with an unsigned note saying it was a gift from them to me, that I would need it." 

"That's... incredibly creepy." 

"Believe me, I was quite bewildered myself. I was planning on throwing it away, but I had a gut feeling, and decided to play around with it for a little while before giving it up. The next thing you know, I'm playing for the next two hours. It just had that effect, the way most coping mechanisms do." 

"You play as a coping mechanism?" Harry asked. 

Shit. Draco hadn't meant to say that. He bit his lip, a habit he'd picked up over the years. "Something like that." 

"Well, if you weren't planning on filing a police report and throwing the piano in the nearest dumpster, you could've at least gone to the front desk and asked for the previous owner's name. So you could figure out who sent it to you." 

Draco shook his head. "Potter, Potter, Potter. Considering the fact that you're The Boy Who Lived, I would expect you to be a little less dense. "You've been living here longer than me, and you haven't yet noticed that this apartment complex has zero management and the staff is out in the back smoking weed 99.9% of the time instead of helping residents?" 

"Right," Harry mumbled, reason catching up to him. "I guess I should've chose a different flat to hide out in." 

"Curious why you had to hide out in the first place." 

"Fuck off. Stop acting like you don't remember." Harry chugged down some of his tea, so he wouldn't have to waste any more words regarding this particular topic. 

"I was referring to your method of running away from your problems." Draco replied, his blue eyes shining with a sudden... concern? That couldn't be right. 

"And that's not what you're doing? I don't know why you came here, but it's clear you're hiding from something too. Check your hypocrisy at the door, Malfoy." 

Draco paused. From an outside perspective, his comment did sound hypocritical. They both had problems they were running away from. But for Draco, it was different. No one had stopped Draco from leaving and no one was waiting for him back at Hogwarts. He had no one to go back to. 

But Harry did. He was so lucky and he didn't even realize it. 

"That's different, Potter," Draco said quietly. 

"Sure it is." 

"Yes, it is, Potter. When I moved here, I had no other option. But you? You have people back at Hogwarts, back home. People who care about you. Ron and Hermione." The words felt strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, as Draco had gotten used to addressing the two as "weaselhead" and "mudblood" after years of doing so at Hogwarts. 

Harry knew he was right, that Ron and Hermione had been searching for his address, searching for a way to contact him. But that was none of Draco Malfoy's business. "You don't know. You don't know the details or what really happened sixth year. You don't know shit. And why do you even care?" Harry yelled, the words coming out louder and harsher then he'd intended. 

Draco didn't respond. Because, truth be told, Draco wasn't entirely sure why he cared. Maybe it was envy. Maybe it was something else. He didn't know. 

Since Harry had laid eyes on Draco his first day at Hogwarts, Draco had been a smug pain in the ass. He was still acting like one moments ago. But then he starting acting so unrealistically sincere, implying that he regretted his racism and that he'd had time to reflect and was now prying about Harry's past. Why would Draco Malfoy, out of all people, care about Harry Potter's wellbeing after years of rivalry? To Harry, there was only one answer that was obvious to him now: He didn't. Inviting Harry into his flat, promising to tone down his obnoxiously loud piano playing, now prying about the incident two years ago... all of it was a trick so Harry would let his guard down. He should've known. He should've figured it out before. 

"Don't say a word," Harry seethed before Draco could speak up. "Let me guess. You want to trick naive little Harry Potter into opening up about his dirty little secrets right when he's vulnerable so you can have permanent blackmail material. You'll listen to his little sob story without giving a shit, and then you'll use it against him. What else could be expected from a Malfoy?" 

Draco remained in his place at the divan, but Harry could see the flicker of surprise and hurt flash through his eyes. Harry tensed, remorse at the ready, but he pushed it back. He had nothing to regret. Malfoy was trying to trick him into spilling his secrets, that was probably the reason he'd invited Harry in to begin with. 

A part of himself that Harry couldn't identify was strangely disappointed with this. Harry didn't want to admit that a part of him hoped that Malfoy really did care. For whatever damn reason, a part of Harry had wanted to believe that the concern in Malfoy's blue eyes was real, that Malfoy would listen to him if he ever worked up the courage to revisit the past he wanted to forget. 

But it wasn't real. It couldn't be. 

Harry stood, removing his coat from the cushioned chair as he did so and wrapping it around him. He stormed towards the door. 

"Potter, wait. I wasn't going to-" Draco uttered. The sound was weak, pleading, enticing. But Harry couldn't give into it. It was fake, it was a trick to get him to stay. Harry pushed away the part of him with no sense, the part of him that thought Malfoy suddenly cared about him for some reason. The part of him that, disturbingly enough, wanted Malfoy to care. 

Without another word, Harry slammed the door.


	3. Harry Potter Is Poignant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry leaves Draco's apartment with a lot to think about, and a swimming session goes horribly, horribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Short chapter today, and Harry's POV. T:W For a PTSD Attack.

Harry's POV: 

Harry didn't recognize his movements through his anger. One moment he was standing in Draco's apartment, the next he was back in his. Then he was pulling off his shirt and putting on his swim-trunks. Now he's storming outside. In the event that Draco broke his promise to tone it down with the piano (which he probably-definitely would) Harry wasn't going to listen to him play while seething. No, he couldn't listen to him play at all. 

He needed to go for a damn swim. 

Harry had always loved swimming, but after the incident, he had steered clear of all bodies of water. Before he took refuge here, he had been hiding out at the Weasley's for a few months. During that time, even fetching water from the kitchen sink was a challenge. Drinking it made him feel like he was choking on it. Eventually, the press found out where he was hiding and Harry had bigger problems than his sudden fear of water. Harry left the Weasley's and moved again. But the press found him- again. So did Hermione and Ron, who stood on the other end of his door, begging for him to let them in. Harry left that apartment before one of them cast Alohomora. He then survived out on the streets for a little while, manifesting in his self-hatred, until he found this flat this January. Trashy, poorly serviced, full of muggles, and the last place you'd expect the Great Harry Potter to be hiding. It was perfect. 

It also meant Harry had to combat his persistent fear of water on his own. After a while, he was able to drink a glass of water without breaking down. After a while, taking showers and baths grew bearable. He still avoided lakes and oceans like the plague, but, after a while, he was able to swim in pools again. Including the crappy, smelly pool that Sunny Spaces Apartment Complex offered. Shitty name, shitty service, shitty pool- but it would suffice.

The water would calm him down and he would be okay. 

Harry took the stairs down to the back, where the pool was located. Harry came to a halt in front of the pool, and proceeded to pace back in forth for awhile, wondering how he would endure living next door to Malfoy of all people. He had already endured it for two months, sure, but at least he hadn't been aware of it. Now, each and every time Harry heard the sound of that piano starting up, he would know that music was being made by Draco Malfoy. He would have the uncanny interaction, the unwelcome conversation they'd shared sealed in his brain like glue. "Maybe I can turn my lease up early, crash at another invisible muggle flat where I won't have Draco Malfoy as my neighbor. Staying next to that bastard is hardly an option anymore." Harry mumbled to himself. He couldn't stand living next to Draco Malfoy and dealing with his mind games, his tricks and schemes. Above all, Harry couldn't handle the way the sunlight caught onto the git's face while he talked snobbishly, somehow making him look all the more attractive. He must have one lucky girlfriend. 

"Wait, what am I thinking?" Harry admonished his mind for betraying him and came to a halt in his pacing. The pool was relatively secluded, but there were a few muggles hanging out on the side giving him a strange look, probably inquiring after his pacing and muttering. Without paying any mind to them, Harry cannonballed into the pool, hoping the water would wash his worries away. The blonde figure watching him from a window went unnoticed. 

The water was cold today. It made sense, considering the fact that it was almost autumn, but it still irked Harry. He preferred the typical lukewarm temperature, so it didn't feel like he was swimming in a lake like... that day. He tried his best to endure the chill, swimming a few laps around the pool with strong thrusts, the coldness of the water familiar. He had improved at disassociating most forms of swimming from the incident over the past few months, but his encounter with Malfoy made Harry feel like he was right back at square one. Swimming was supposed to take his mind off of this, but instead, it was doing the opposite. 

Harry tried to shove the sudden thoughts away, the thoughts that wouldn't have made an appearance if Malfoy hadn't put them back in his head, if the water weren't so cold, if he weren't in such a terrible mood. 

But he failed. 

Harry was no longer in the pool of his apartment. He was in the murky water of the lake, running out of time, desperate for oxygen. Turning a corner and shoving his way through seaweed, he saw the person he had been looking for, their body sinking, drifting to the bottom of the ocean, losing consciousness. Harry couldn't save them, not if he wanted to come out of this alive. Christmas colors began to decorate his vision, and Harry pushed himself up to the surface, saving himself but abandoning another. 

Some hero he was. 

Harry had managed to pull himself out of the water, oxygen filling his lungs, and alone for one terrifying, silent moment, before everyone was everywhere. Before all hell broke loose. Before the screams and the tears and the mourning and the conspiracy and the chaos and the hiding. 

Harry blinked. The chaos was gone. He was back in present time, in the pool, not in that lake. He was okay. Except in all the ways that he wasn't. 

One of them being that, even though Harry James Potter was temporarily free of that horrid memory, his lungs were still filling to the brim with water. His ears were still ringing, and Christmas colors were still decorating his vision. 

Despite his grogginess and the thick surface of the water, Harry managed to hear someone shout "He's drowning!" before everything went black.


End file.
